


Say Pal, Looks Like You're Having Some Trouble.

by Blazedrgn



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blazedrgn/pseuds/Blazedrgn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in London was always a simple one, albeit cold in the wintry months, and the only form of excitement came from his daily experiments and attempts at science. However, it seemed something else was happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Simple Times.

Winters in England were always blustery and wet, especially before the colder season was in full swing, and the snow was closer to slush which clung to boots and the cuffs of pants as surely as if it were mud.

 

Wilson muttered bitterly to himself as he tried to tug up his collar against the sharp cold sting of air while hurrying homeward, wishing he’d had the forethought to grab a warmer coat before heading out that morning. Nothing to be done about it now; he continued onward, stopping now and then to try and shake some of the slush from one foot, then the other, hoping to keep from gathering too much on his shoes and slipping.

 

Once the front door of his home was firmly shut behind him, Wilson placed the parcel that had been slung upon his back in the kitchen, then hurried to the wash room while rubbing his hands up and down his bony arms, hoping to create some semblance of warmth. Wasting no time, he fit the stopper into the tub and turned the hot water on first, hoping the cold hadn’t sapped heat from it just yet.

 

When steam started to fill the room, Wilson began to peel layers of clothes off of his wiry frame to deposit into the laundry basket, shivering against the cold of the room. While better than outside, he was certainly willing to enter the tub before it was full.

 

With a soft hiss he added a single foot, quickly pulling it out for a moment before lowering it back in once more. His toes had almost gone numb on his trip today, but the water quickly fixed that, even in their brief, stinging immersion. It wasn’t long before the rest of him was within the tub, water slowly rising around him. What an invention it was, what a brilliant idea to have hot water at an individual's home. And not just that, but the gas lamps, the talk of transportation that moved without the aid of a horse, all such wonderful things.

 

Wilson hoped to someday see his name listed among those who created such marvelous devices, perhaps one day soon, if he was lucky. There was so much he was looking forward to trying, and the things he purchased earlier today would surely help further his efforts.

 

Shutting off the water, he leaned back and stretched his legs out best he could within the bathtub, the chill of outside practically seeping from him as warmth took its place. This was nice… this was much nicer. Wilson let his eyes drift over to the window, glazing out at the wintery skies. Being on the second floor of his house, he had no real thought to draw the curtains in his haste, though most days he did anyway. Though there was some unexpected enjoyment in a relaxing bath while watching the weather.

 

Eyelids continued to slide down more and more, as if the scientist was blinking slowly. For a moment he looked to the oil lamp in the room and how it flickered… a little like… the light was a little… a little like…

 

_A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, and for a moment Wilson held his breath, certain that his science machine would be struck and burned to ash once again._

_Yet the streak of electricity went for the lightning rod he had barely finished setting up, and for a moment the resounding roar of thunder that accompanied it rang in Wilson’s ears, and the scientist quickly pressed his hands to them hoping he would not have to spend the rest of his time in this miserable place stripped of his hearing… but it soon returned, the ringing sound residing, and he leaped with joy while giving a victorious shout to the heavens!_

_He’d done it! No longer would lightning strike him or his creations down, he-_

_A sneeze interrupted his victory monologue, wrapping his arms around himself, Wilson remembered just how soaked he was. Blast it all, he would catch a death if he wasn’t careful… where was that umbrella?_

 

Wilson’s body jolted as he sneezed a second time, and he splashed within the bathtub as if trying to escape… something.

 

He blinked, rubbed his hands to his eyes then splashed a few handfuls of bathwater into his face.

 

What was that? He couldn’t quite recall, though clearly he had fallen asleep within his bath. Wilson scoffed softly to himself, noting how the bathwater was not as welcomingly hot as when he first entered. Quickly he scrubbed himself down and rinsed off before getting out, snatching up a towel to dry off and then slipping into clean clothes.

 

Perhaps he had been overworking himself; yes, a good meal and a bit of rest was surely all that was needed right now. After all, if you didn’t have your health, you didn’t have anything. At least Wilson was certain that was how it went.

 

\---

 

Though he lived alone Wilson had not been one to hire a cook or cleaner, and took care of most things himself. It wasn’t hard; he was a scientist after all, and at its base cooking was very much a science. An… alchemic one of sorts. You put things in, and got out something else. Something he often found quite fun.

 

Once the fire was stoked under the pot, and the water started to simmer, the scientist began to experiment.

 

_What would go well together this evening?_

 

It was cold, so perhaps something earthy.

 

Before long he had the beginnings of a soup bubbling away, the smell filling the kitchen and causing his stomach to give a small rumble. Petting his hand atop his slim stomach, he silently promised that food would be ready soon. Just needed some-

 

_Sticks, where were the sticks? Surely he’d gathered enough earlier, a minimum of three were required along with a dragon fruit for-_

 

Wilson froze, his hand suspended above the pot, clenching a fistful of sticks. Eyes darted about, seeking some sort of explanation but found none. Uncertain what else to do, he quickly threw them into the fire below the pot, and he silently wondered if this was akin to destroying evidence.

 

“Perhaps I should visit the library tomorrow… search to see if there is anything on the effects of sleep deprivation,” Wilson stated thoughtfully, but not to anyone in particular. After all he alone occupied his house right now, which was good because he was not sure if he had made enough soup for himself and a guest.

 

It was reassuring to sit down with his meal; a full, steaming bowl of soup, and a plate with a warm buttered roll. The latter of which he had purchased while out earlier that day, and had lightly toasted against the dying coals of the fire.

 

A soft hum sounded in Wilson’s throat as he began to partake of his meal. Though it scalded his tongue a little, the heat traveled all the way down to his stomach, warming him from the inside. The bread was perfect to mop up the last of it at the end, still fluffy inside while having a crunchy shell… though he did have to clean up the crumbs after, couldn’t very well be having rats come into his home

 

Unless they were for experimenting, but not today.

 

\---

 

Once everything was clean and taken care of, Wilson headed up to his bed chambers, intent on getting some decent sleep before beginning any more experiments. It was highly impractical, not to mention improper to fall asleep while experimenting, especially for a distinguished gentleman like himself.

 

The lights were out and the fireplace within his room was stoked for the night, dressing gown up upon its hook, and with a glance in the mirror Wilson rubbed his hand to his chin. He was gaining a bit of stubble, mayhaps he should shave tomorrow.

 

With that last thought he climbed into bed, nestling under the sheets for a well deserved rest. Tomorrow would be another day.

 

\---

 

_Cold._

_It was so bitterly cold._

_Winter had snuck upon Wilson faster than expected, leaving him completely unprepared. He’d floundered at his science and alchemic stations, trying to find some way to warm himself even just a little bit._

_Wrangling together some stone and a pickaxe, Wilson almost laughed at the thermal stone in his hands and immediately held it in front of the fire to soak up the warmth it provided._

_Snow was still coming down, and the scientist was certain it was darker than usual beyond his circle of light. Though he knew such a thought was preposterous, including the thought of the shadows moving about him, taking shape and form._

_...why couldn’t flowers grow in winter? Just enough for one more crown of flowers…_

_Holding the stone snug against his person, Wilson breathed a sigh of relief as it warmed him, a weak, soft laughter escaping his lips._

_A faint sound caught his ears, and the scientist froze. Hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and if it wasn’t so frightfully frigid, Wilson was certain he would be sweating as his ears picked up upon the sound of a music box._

_Panic filled Wilson as he looked around, searching f- **there**._

_Long black shadowy hands were extending from the surrounding darkness, reaching for his campfire._

_No…_

_No not now… he… there wasn’t much wood left._

_No…_

 

\---

 

“No!”

 

Wilson cried out and tumbled from his bed, landing sharply on the floor with a solid thud. Wincing, the scientist carefully untangled his legs from the bedsheets and sat upon the floor, one hand gingerly rubbing his arm while silently wondering if it might bruise.

 

Down in his living room, he heard the faint chime of the clock. Wilson silently counted to himself, hoping it might provide him with a sense of calm. It felt as if his heart were a bird within a cage, struggling to get free, flapping against -

 

_Parchment, he hadn’t found any reeds yet. Gold had been easy enough, seeds even more so. But reeds? Wilson tried to think if he had seen even a single-_

 

With an almost desperate cry Wilson pushed himself up off the floor, staggering over to the desk where he kept a basin and pitcher to wash his face in the morning. A little outdated, but something he was grateful for at that moment. Hastily he poured half the pitcher into the bowl, not even noticing it slosh and spill to the desk or floor.

 

Splashing the cold water to his face Wilson couldn’t help but yelp.

 

“Goodness that’s cold!” He declared, quickly reaching for the hand towel on the side of the desk, briskly rubbing the rough fabric to his face before returning the towel to its spot once more.

 

Right, he certainly felt more awake, refreshed even. Perhaps science couldn’t wait; after all if his mind refused to let it be, why not work?

 

...what was it he had been trying to create again? Something with seeds? No, no that couldn’t be right. Wilson decided to simply check his notes upstairs.

 

\---

 

Wrapped tight in his dressing gown, slippers secure upon his feet, Wilson carried a candle carefully in one hand as he ascended the stairs to the attic.

 

Gas and science often didn’t go well together, and so candles were the chosen alternative lightsource while he worked.

 

It reminded him a little of the stories he would immerse himself in when younger, not that he would ever admit that to anyone of course; a scientist must always be practical afterall.

 

Long into the night he worked, trying this and that, thinking for a moment he had it, only for something to explode in his face.

 

No harm done though, no gas to carry that… erm… little umm… explosion. All was well.

 

Even though he seemed to be getting nowhere, Wilson found it easy to become engulfed in his work, forgetting all about the little disturbances recently.

 

Glancing to the window, Wilson saw a faint gleam of light brushing against the dark grey clouds, a somewhat breathtaking indication that he’d been up all night.

 

Walking over to the window, he rested his hands upon the sill, looking out into the early morning as it slowly began to light the town below. He lived far enough away to be clear of the usual hustle and bustle, which meant quieter evenings, and views such as this. Some of the snow almost looked as pink as the clouds that held edges of gold and orange, perhaps an indication of a warmer day to come.


	2. Ragtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can be hard to understand things you don't remember, but sometimes all you can do is try.

Winter drudgery and all its frozen white flurries soon gave way to warmer weather, and seemingly continuous rainfall. It was the most common weather for most seasons in England, and it left a certain gentleman scientist with a soothing drumming sound against his roof, accompanied by a soft patter against the windowpane while working on his latest experiment. So far Wilson's’ day had gone well, started with a tasty breakfast of oatmeal topped with honey and warmed milk, then braved the outside weather to return a library book and check out another and had managed to make it home with the book safe and sound with the book tucked within his thick coat. True, he had almost forgotten about lunch while reading the book until the grandfather clock had chimed the twelfth hour, but such an event wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for him, and upon remembering he had made himself quite a nice sandwich. Once lunch was over, Wilson had tied up a bit before going upstairs to see which of his experiments he might work on for the remainder of that day.

The hour was growing late when a loud knock sounded from the front door, drawing Wilson’s attention away from his work. A quick glance out the window and down, Wilson spotted the long truck with the words ‘ice delivery’ painted in bold black letters along the side. Setting his apron and gloves aside, he quickly hurried down the stairs before the delivery man could leave. The block of ice currently occupying his icebox was now closer to something that should float in a drink as opposed to something keeping his food cold. And Wilson certainly didn’t want his food spoiling any sooner than needed.

Quick enough he made it down and paid for a block of ice which was brought over to his front porch, and though the man offered to bring it in Wilson shook his head, assuring the man he could manage just fine on his own thank you. With the ice block inside and the door shut, Wilson took up the rope he kept by the door for just such occasions, and quickly looped it around the ice block to help him carry it further in. With a good grip and a simple heft Wilson lifted it easy enough, quietly hoping to himself that it wouldn’t melt too much over his floor, and began carrying it towards the kitchen. Only a few strides in and shiver went through him as a drop of melting ice dripped against his pants leg, quickly soaking in and causing the fabric to cling coldly to his skin. Wilson tried to ignore it, even as a second drop followed and he felt it trying to trickle down before being absorbed as the first drop had been, it was just-

_Hot, so terribly hot. Wilson couldn’t even bring himself to care as a birchnut tree seemed to catch on fire all on its own, he was far away enough that no harm would come to him from the fire. Rather than wonder about how a tree might spontaneously combust like that, Wilson instead kept what focus he had left on the pick in his hands, and the ice before him._

_It was an unpleasant process to say the least, and Wilson was certain that his aching muscles might start to scream in protest as he swung the pick down again, wincing at the jarring sensation that went through him as his strike connected. Wilson slumped slightly as he wiped a shaking hand across his forehead in hopes of keeping the sweat from his eyes, it seemed his wiry body was only able to take so much despite the time he’d spent out here._

_"One would think that, with time spent mining stone, chopping wood, and other such activities, that such a similar action would be effortless, but no.” Wilson grumbled to himself as he gripped the pickaxe and swung one more time._

_Forgetting himself for a brief moment, Wilson couldn’t help but give a grateful whimpering cheer as part of the ice cracked and broke away to thud onto the ground. The next part only took a few moments, and soon Wilson was sitting on the ground with a large block of ice tied to his head. In truth he felt… well… somewhat miserable given his current exhausted state, and Wilson was fairly certain he could feel the weight of ice resting on his back and spine._

_But… he was cool, he wouldn’t combust like some random birchnut tree, he-_

\---

Wilson jumped at the sound of a dog barking outside, heart pounding in his chest as he felt the need to _run_ to _hide_ to… where had his ice gone?

For a brief moment Wilson looked down at his hands, as if by simply staring at them long enough he could figure out what had happened to it. But it seemed a cold trickle of water running down from his hair and neck would be what clued the scientist in on the whereabouts of his ice. At first he didn’t move, but knowing he couldn’t put off the inevitable, Wilson reached up. Moving hesitantly, his fingers were still quick to brush against the cold block of frozen water atop his head, securely kept in place with the rope he had been using to carry it with.

Part of Wilson wanted to scream.

Yet, he was a gentleman, and a scientist. Children cried and caused a kerfuffle when they didn’t know what was going on, as a scientist Wilson was determined to figure it out, and remain calm while doing so.

First things first, the ice went into its proper spot while the smaller ice piece was discarded into the sink. Next came dry clothes and a towel to quickly dry his hair, followed by the procurement of his notepad and pen that sat upstairs next to his radio.

Seated in his wonderfully plush chair, feeling much more at ease than he had earlier, Wilson began to take note. Carefully and neatly, Wilson wrote down the date followed by what transpired. Sadly, much like the occurrences that came before now, he couldn’t recall _why_ he’d done it, or anything during the time it had happened. As far as Wilson could fathom, someone had snuck in and tied the ice to his head, then left. But he would, _should_ remember that, just as surely as he should remember tying it to his own head… right? With a sigh he looked over some of his past entries, flipping the pages back and forth as his eyes surveyed his own scrawl, wondering if any of it would start making sense.

_Sudden, unexpected apprehension of barking dogs._

_Attempted to give largest pig at county fair a broken toy, unsure if I expected something in return._

_Found wooden boards nailed together with a few cuts of meat wedged between in the backyard, uncertain how long it had been there._

_Appeared to have conversed with parrot outside of local pet store, clerk was unhelpful and would not diverge what our conversation was about._

_Purchased a stout, cylindrical, fluffy piece of furniture. Uncertain if it is a footstool or chest as it seems to have a storage unit inside yet it is the appropriate height for a footstool._

_Random items periodically found inside fluffy footstool._

And so on and so forth it went. Though between such entries there were much shorter ones along the lines of:

_I am afraid._

_Something is trying to get me._

_Where is the music box?_

_Why was it so dark?_

_Is someone calling my name?_

The last one bothered him most of all, mostly because anything that seemed to happen within these brief moments was forgotten except that someone had been calling his name. At least he was certain enough to assume there was a chance of it, and thought it was worth writing down.

Sadly his latest entry didn’t bring any additional clarity or clues to whatever was going on, and so with a somewhat defeated sigh Wilson set the book and pen back down, running his fingers through his hair as if in an attempt to tug it out of its usual ‘w’ shape.

It… it felt like he was missing something, as if there was some core element that - if he could simply find, would solve all of this. Going back downstairs, Wilson wondered if it was in the garden he had suddenly taken interest in trying to create out the back, or the bird traps he was trying to make for… science. Or so he told himself.

Wilson froze in the doorway to his kitchen as the soft sound of a gramophone reached his ears, a somewhat lively tune, yet Wilson had never felt less inclined to enjoy music in all his life. For a moment he wondered if it was the start of something he wouldn’t remember, and quickly gave his arm a sharp pinch as a book had suggested to see if anything changed. Nothing save for the slight sting from where he’d pinched himself. At least he seemed in control of himself and his senses.

A little more curious now, Wilson decided to investigate.

Glancing around himself first, Wilson proceeded to move slowly and hesitantly through his own house as if he were being hunted. Turning his head one way, then the other, Wilson began trying to track the sound to its source, and found it coming from upstairs. At the second floor he found it coming from further up, and began to chuckle at his own foolishness.

Hurrying up the last of the stairs, Wilson trotted over to his radio which was indeed the source of the scratchy, jazzy tune. Likely he had turned it on and forgot about it, a common enough occurrence even before all this other nonsense started. With a simple click, silence filled the room once more, giving Wilson a sense of ease at this simple show of control over his own environment. That done, he decided it was time for dinner.

\---

At night the wind rattled at the windows, despite being shut tight the air still seemed to howl and huff against them, sounding as if there was something just outside. This was ridiculous of course, his bedroom was on the second floor after all, Wilson reassured himself while tucking his body further under the bed covers, and even adjusted the pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the noise. He turned to rest on his side, eyes watching the fire dance behind the grate in the hearth. For some reason having a well stoked fire helped calm his nerves, and thus Wilson had taken to keeping a stock of firewood inside beside the fireplace in his room.

A shiver wracked his thin frame as the noise seemed to get louder. It almost sounded like dogs… or perhaps wolves, but they weren’t supposed to sound like that… all grated, huffing, snarling, and loud. Plus there was no logical way to hear a dog outside on the street while being upstairs in bed.

For a moment Wilson held his breath then quickly thought _there is nothing in my house, only me. I don’t even have a spare room for someone to stay in anyway._

He was safe inside his house, safe from the noisy wind that rattled his windows and blustered through the trees. Wilson reassured himself over and over again as his eyes slowly drifted shut, and within moments he was asleep.

\---

_Something was coming._

_At first it sounded like hounds, the low guttural growls and loud snorts, but after a moment Wilson was positive the sound was **not** the same. He had only just retrieved a few eggs from the bird within his newly made birdcage, and was quickly putting them, along with some meat, into the crockpot. His growling stomach already felt as if it pinched his spine, even though that was physically impossible… sometimes he wondered. As it cooked he went to a chest within the light of his fire, the snow atop falling off as he opened it quickly, grabbing the bush hat inside._

_Wilson knew he couldn’t deal with hounds right now, he hadn’t had the chance to replace his armor since the tallbird incident. However, there was a chance to hide until morning and simply run as fast as he could to the pig houses spotted just the other day. Not the bravest act, but one that would keep him alive. Savage beasts those hounds… they seemed to be coming in higher number these days. If naught for the full moon above, Wilson would have been tempted to get a head start, not to mention the fact that this far into winter he wasn’t entirely positive that he wouldn’t simply freeze to death on the way over._

_He was ready to crouch down and hide, but then the ground seemed to shudder, almost causing Wilson to unbalance. Quickly glancing over his shoulder, Wilson saw it. Even in the dark, he saw the large form moving towards him, outlined by the full moon. He saw it, and his head tilted back slightly as he kept looking up looking up looking **up**._

_The singular eye that sat in its head swiveled and looked in his direction, **looked at him**._

_Wilson screamed._

_Without hesitation he ran from the safety of his fire, quickly pulling a torch from his bag and lighting it as he rain._

_Snow began to fall around him, seemingly glowing from the torchlight and perhaps Wilson might have admired the sight if he wasn’t running for his very life._

_It was after him._

_There was no reason to turn around because Wilson was absolutely positive it was on his heels, and in his panicked state he didn’t even pause to wonder where exactly he was going. Frankly he didn’t care so long as it was AWAY._

_All too soon the torch fizzled out, and even in the darkness he fumbled to make another, Wilson always carried twigs and cut grass in his bag! But even as he tried to blindly craft the two things together, the scientist felt pain explode across his back, and he cried out out in pain as something he couldn’t see struck him._

_Everything hurt… he was bleeding surely. Desperately, Wilson still tried yet again to make another torch._

_Not like this, please, he couldn’t die… not here… not like this… please!_

\---

Wilson cried out and raised his hands and arms about his head as if to shield himself, while curling into the smallest ball he could possibly manage as if hoping to go unseen, to not be snapped up by… by…

By what?

Slowly, hesitantly, Wilson began to unfurl himself and peeked out between his arms at his surroundings. It was dark, wet, and raining heavily, so it was no surprise to find himself utterly drenched from head to foot. But from the small amount of light that spilled out from the windows of his house, Wilson could see he was in his own back yard, curled up at the base of a tree. Within arms reach, he spotted a cut of wood which Wilson reached for with no pause for thought.

“It’s burn most of the way down,” he mumbled to no one other than himself, then glanced at both his hands before adding “yet I did not burn myself.” As far as he could visually tell, the piece of wood had likely been taken from the fireplace in his room. At least that was his best guess.

With a soft groan Wilson got up, resting a hand to his head as he did so. His mind felt heavy with things he couldn’t remember, no matter how much he desperately wished he could. And he was so tired… so very tired. Sniffling, Wilson wiped the back of his hand across his eyes with little effect.

_Doesn’t matter I suppose, it’s raining anyway_. He thought to himself and dragged himself back inside, his mind a simple blank to the usual concern that often came after such events.

\---

The hour was late by the time Wilson had bathed and redressed in his second set of night clothes, and he wondered silently to himself if perhaps if it was simply early by this point. Or if maybe this was just a dream, and any moment now he would wake in his own bed. Wilson decided not to pinch himself to find out.

Carrying a single candle for light, his hand held afore it to help keep the flame steady, Wilson headed back towards his bedroom, far too tired to even consider writing down what just transpired. What was the point if this was a dream anyway? Dreams of daily life weren’t uncommon after all.

He paused on the second floor, a jaunty tune filtering down through the ceiling and the floorboards of the attic caused Wilson to bite back a whimper before beginning the climb up the second flight of stairs. In his exhaustion, the scientist almost stumbled over his own feet as he made his way over to the radio, and clicked it off.

For a moment Wilson eyed the oversized and well used armchair that occupied the space beside the radio and next to one of his better bookshelves, momentarily wondering if perhaps he should sleep there for the night instead.

A chill danced down his spine, and despite his bed being much further away, Wilson turned and dragged his led laden feet across the floor, down the stairs, and over to his room.

Exhaustion had him out within moments of his head resting atop the pillow and was engulfed in a dreamless sleep, leaving him deaf to the distant voice that seemed to call somewhere from upstairs, somewhere in the attic.

“Where are you boy? Wilson? Wilson!” The voice shouted faintly as the radio crackled and popped.


	3. Garland of Flowers

Summer time was quickly approaching, though not that it showed too much in the weather, save for a few more patches of sunshine mixed with a couple of sun showers. Wilson, ever the scientist, was hard at work as he often always was. Taking a more of a scientific approach had helped the scientist hold it together over the past several months, even if he felt no closer to an answer.

It had made sense to fall back on the ever reliable scientific method in hopes of finding some answers, or possibly even solutions. Wilson wasn’t going to argue with whichever he found in the end, and was more than ready to be happy with either.

There was something wrong. While true, this was not a question and could not be applied. _What is wrong?_ As a question, this was a bit better, though Wilson wished it was a little more specific. _What is wrong with me?_ In truth, since he couldn’t remember anything, Wilson wasn’t exactly certain that the problem lay with him. _What outside force is affecting me?_ Again with no recollection, this question held the same problem as the one before it. As a result of having many questions, Wilson eventually decided that the best option was to systematically make his way through all of them until a solution was found.

He had decided it might be easier to focus on himself first, not exactly recalling when his physical had been anyway. Wilson had set up an appointment, and began typing up the first part of his method. Hopefully, and goodess did Wilson hope, that nothing would happen between now and the doctors office. Or… during the check up for that matter.

Thankfully it seemed to go smoothly, Wilson’s doctor told him he was in good health, though when he mentioned the memory lapses he was given a bottle of aspironal to ward off a possible onset of a cold. After all people slept more when they were sick, and since he wasn’t a doctor, Wilson accepted and headed home.

After double checking the instructions, the scientist had intended to follow through with them to continue with his scientific method, yet… it did not quite go as planned. Wilson had been about to take the first teaspoon dose, only to suddenly be upstairs, holding a stone mortar in one hand, the pestle in the other. Inside was something that made Wilson gag as he looked at it, and quickly threw out both in favor of simply getting another one rather than attempting to clean it out. It had looked like some strange paste, with… long twitchy black spiderlegs poking out.

Conclusion: medical assistance provided no assistance.

Next was to see if perhaps an increase of social interaction might help. True he wasn’t a hermit in his home, but since these incidents started happening Wilson had been going out less and less. It was a little… concerning to say the least, he didn’t know what might happen while in public. Plus, last time he was in public he had tried to give that toy to that oversized pig and attempted to converse with a parrot. But if that was the worst of it, then perhaps it would be alright, especially if socialization helped.

Again while he wasn’t a hermit, Wilson wasn’t exactly a socialite either, and wasn’t exactly one to go down to the local pub for a few drinks. Thankfully, while that was one of the easier options, it wasn’t the only ones, and the scientist was more than willing to put forth a little effort. One of which was to start eating his meals out, starting in the morning at one of the cafe’s in town he’d wanted to try for a while now. With a newspaper, some coffee, and soon a plate of eggy in a basket, he sat at a table to try and enjoy his morning surrounded by more bustle than he usually was.

It was a little difficult to focus on his paper, and now and then Wilson found himself overhearing conversations of others around him. Eavesdropping wasn’t exactly a trait befitting a gentleman, and he did try to focus on his newspaper! But… he was a little curious to know if the man behind him would indeed be purchasing one of those motor cars soon, and if it might be seen on the streets sometime soon.

Breakfast taken care of, Wilson began to wander the shopping district. He looked in the windows of different stores, viewing whatever wares they had on display, wondering if perhaps he should purchase himself a new vest, or maybe some boots. Another time, but he did sit to get the boots he was wearing polished to a nice shine, and tipped the boy nicely before continuing on. While it was all much of the same things he usually saw whenever he came down to make necessary purchases, it wasn’t too often, if at all, that Wilson came down for the simple act of observation. There was a hat maker he hadn’t noticed before, and the new paint seemed to imply the store was fairly new. Wilson let his eyes wander over the different hats, some adorned with flowers, others ribbons, and some not at all. His eyes rested on a simple garland of flowers which sat at the front, and as he leaned a little closer it appeared that perhaps these flowers were fake, this… seemed to make him a little sad, though he was unsure why. After staring at the garland a little longer, almost wistfully, the scientist continued on.

Just before lunch, Wilson stopped in at a barber shop to get a shave. Usually it was something he took care of on his own, but barbers were one of the best places to have a conversation while seated. Other than the local bar that was. Plus with winter behind him, it would be nice to be free of the whiskers that had started occupying his lower face, something he shouldn’t have allowed to go unnoticed. In truth it had been quite nice to sit down for a shave once again, and the man who had done so had skillfully kept a good flow of conversation.

Relaxing as it was, Wilson was steadily getting tired after spending so much time in the city surrounded by so many people. But, he was a man of science, and he wanted to at least complete the day.

Lunch was easy enough, Wilson chose to take it at a place he’d eaten once before and had never had reason to do it again before today. While his meal and drink were indeed delicious, Wilson was fairly certain he couldn’t afford to do this on a daily basis, and if socialization was indeed the answer… perhaps he could make do with a few short trips throughout the week, and be home in time for any meals.

Thankfully, however, he had brought a spare notebook and pen with himself, and could jot down a few ideas for experiments while enjoying his lunch. It wasn’t too much, but it was always good to keep track of ideas, even if he wasn’t too certain just yet how he might make a hat that had its own source of light, especially one which depended on fireflies. Ah well, surely a horseless carriage was a foolish thought at some point, perhaps one of his own would be just as marvelous, even with all that was going on… he still hoped that he might create wonderful things.

Not sure where to go next, Wilson let himself wander almost aimlessly, walking past houses compacted next to each other with no space between and reaching high above to the sky. Such things made Wilson all the more grateful for having his house apart from all of this, atop a hill, waiting for him once he returned home. Eventually the scientists feet lead him to a park, and it seemed to be warmly lit as the sun began its decent, but still a decent distance from the horizon.

He had time.

Many of the flowers were in bloom, and without thought Wilson found himself picking them, till he had twelve total in his hands. Since he seemed to be aware of his actions, there seemed to be nothing wrong in taking a spot on a park bench with the flowers he’d collected, and stringing one after another together until he held a garland in his hands. It would help, he didn’t know how but… as surely as he knew a lit candle would provide light, Wilson felt so sure that these woven flowers would help his mind.

That wasn’t science, and for a moment Wilson was tempted to simply leave it upon the bench for a child to take. In the end, as the lamps were being lit against the oncoming night, he carried it with him as he went back home.

Tiredly, Wilson entered his home, shut the door, and locked it behind him as he usually did before contemplating what to do next. His first thought was a well deserved bath to soak his tired legs, but perhaps he would take the garland and notebook upstairs first. It was only a little further after all, and well… since he had found himself on the other end of town so late in the day, had allowed himself to take a carriage home instead of walking the whole way and coming home well after dark.

He hadn’t wanted to be outside after dark since he had awoken to find himself out in the rain, terrified, and with no reason or explanation as to why.

Upstairs the setting sun still glinted some light off of various instruments that sat by the windowsill, and again Wilson wondered if perhaps he should move the table, invest in some more curtains after the last had… accidentally burnt down, or simply continue to take a break around this time. Setting the garland, notebook, and pen aside, Wilson turned to go back downstairs, only to catch the light at a glaring angle off of one of his beakers. Squinting he brought his hands up to-

“Wilson!”

The scientist jumped as his name was shouted, and he turned to look only to still be blinded by the light. Staggering back slightly as he tried to orient himself and get the light out of his eyes, Wilson felt his legs connect with the seat of his chair, and with a yelp he sat down, hands grabbing at the armrest while he still squinted against the light.

Music filtered through the radio with a crackling pop, and for a moment Wilson wondered if perhaps in his fatigue he had imagined his name.

“Wilson, there you are boy.” The low voice spoke, voice seemingly coming out from the radio as the music played.

Scrunching his eyes tight against the bright light, Wilson tried not to whimper, instead trying to raise his hands to shield his eyes against the glare but… but he couldn’t move them.

“Ah, been in the dark too long haven’t you.” The voice said simply, and with a click, the music stopped. “Hope you don’t mind, I have long since grown tired of that tune, and it is surely safe to assume the same of you.”

Wilson wanted to open his eyes, even if just a little, to look at the radio, at his arms, have some idea of what was going on, yet the light grew brighter and he tried to turn his head away from the glare.

“Apologies, it was not my intention to blind you, I suppose I should have remembered how it was when our positions were reversed. Does that suffice?”

The light seemed to shift, as if it were no longer shining directly at his face. Rather than wonder how the sun could be moved to shine its light somewhere other than directly through his window, Wilson opened his eyes and…

… and…

—

Wilson’s head was still turned to the side, and instead of the bookshelves that usually lined the side of his attic he saw pillars of marble, with a column at the end and a blaze of fire atop. Blinking a few times, he turned his head forward once more only to immediately try and press himself further into his chair at the sight of the person before him. The man’s features were sharp, from the cut of his hair, down his nose, to the line of his jaw. And while Wilson was certain, so very certain, the man looked much paler last he saw him, there was no question or doubt in his mind as to who this was.

“Maxwell.” Wilson was certain he had said the name himself, but his voice did not sound like his own, it sounded as if it had come from someone who hadn’t spoken in weeks… if not months or more. Yet he felt the twinge in his throat, his voice box protesting the simple act of conversing.

The man, Maxwell, seemed reassured at this and straightened a little, one hand holding the hat atop his head that aimed a line of light from the top much like a bullseye lantern but in hat form.

“Glad you still have your wits about you, I assure you that you shall need them for what is to come next.” Maxwell said matter-of-factly, but Wilson was certain he seemed almost… relieved? “Now then, time may be short, but I suppose if you have any immediate pressing questions I might do what I can to answer them.” The man continued as he lightly tugged at his pinstriped jacket.

Originally, mere moments ago as he sat in his attic, Wilson had so many questions, but now? Now he was sitting in a place he remembered, and he did indeed remember… everything now. Memories had flooded back into his mind, settling and making room there as if they had never left, and while his questions had changed it seemed as if he had more now than before. Opening his mouth to speak, he coughed instead, his raw throat protesting before he could even get a word out this time.

“Wish I could say how long it was until I became accustomed to this place,” Maxwell said as Wilson tried to gather himself, sounding almost sympathetic as he spoke. “I hope you find some solace knowing you will never find that out.”

Wilson felt his heart pounding in his chest hard enough to hurt, memories spinning in his mind as if remembering events that had just happened. Why… how? Though his voice grated as if sand coated his throat, he forced the singular word out of his mouth.

“How?” For a moment Maxwell gave him a quizzical look, seemingly pondering exactly what Wilson was asking, but thankfully it seemed to dawn on him. “Ah yes, I suppose the last you saw me I, well, I died. I wonder how that looked to you.” Maxwell said thoughtfully as he rubbed a hand to his chin, then a shiver seemed to wrack his limber form at the memory. But the man quickly cleared his throat and turned his attention to Wilson once more.

“Well I - hmm, I suppose now isn’t the time to answer such things, considering…” Maxwell trailed off, motioning a hand to either side and Wilson turned to look each way at the darkness, and found himself not surprised in the least to see eyes looking back at them. “But remind me later, and perhaps I shall divulge my secrets then.”

Well, that was fair enough, Wilson supposed, to be out of this chair before any meaningful conversation could-

Eyes widened in horror at the realization of what was about to take place, Wilson struggled against the restraints that held him to the chair, he didn’t want to die!

“Don’t you think I tried that? Calm down boy, I…” Maxwell trailed off yet again, eyes flickering about them at the darkness, searching. Before Wilson could ask, the other man snarled in frustration and made a motion with his hand, a bag falling from his back to the ground as a dense shadow wrapped over his pinstriped suit. Though he tried to focus his eyes on it, the substance didn’t seem to still, and gave Wilson a feeling of dread. Perhaps that was what nightmares looked like forged into something solid, and with a simple motion Maxwell seemed to draw a sword of the same material from his pocket which Maxwell pointed out at the darkness. “Blasted failed experiments, if you refuse to acknowledge your creator than I shall strike you down as many times as necessary!”

Without hesitation Maxwell adjusted the light atop his head and strode towards the darkness and the sound of the approaching hounds.

“Wait…” Wilson croaked, wanting to call Maxwell back. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to stay here either! How long had he been sitting here, and why… why couldn’t he remember?

Gritting his teeth, Wilson strained against the shadows that seemed to hold him to his seat, more so as he heard the snarl and snap of jaws. How good was Maxwell in a fight? A strangled, gargled cry of pain came from the darkness Maxwell had entered into moments earlier, a sound that chilled him and made him give one final surge against his bindings…

—

Wilson staggered forward, falling to the floor, free of the chair. Immediately he ran forward, intending to help, he didn’t let that blasted man free simply so he could die and-

With a yelp Wilson connected with something solid and fell back, raising his hands to shield himself as several as he found himself pelted by several…

Books?

Pushing himself back up, Wilson looked around and found himself in his attic once again.

“Oh… oh no.” Wilson almost whimpered as he struggled to his feet, slipping on a few books in the process before dashing over to the radio, picking it up to press to his ear. Nothing. He turned it off and on a few times before shaking it violently.

“Maxwell? Maxwell can you hear me?” He shouted at the radio before practically slamming it back down, then throwing himself into his chair once more, placing his hands on the armrests, and waiting.

Again, nothing. Just his normal attic.

As he waited Wilson realized that he was likely to forget all of this, even though this time it hadn’t been a memory at all. The scientist wasn’t even certain what had happened all those times before were recollections, but now wasn’t the time to theorize. Cursing Maxwell for the umpteenth time while muttering that the man would owe him several explanations at the end of all of this, he ran over to his typewriter and began typing furiously in an attempt to get everything down in case he forgot any of it.

Eventually the sun finished setting.

Eventually the clock downstairs chimed the twelfth hour.

Wilson continued to stand upstairs before his typewriter, looking over the page still held in place by the typebar against the platen, only half filled with words, and several other pieces of paper which had been strewn about it as if hastily pulled out and tossed aside to be replaced by another piece.

Stifling a yawn, Wilson gathered up the pages, tapped them together neatly, and set them beside the typewriter. Trying to hold back another yawn, he failed this time, and his jaw popped as the breath of air slowly left his lung and exited his mouth to brush against the hand he held before it.

Glancing about Wilson tried to remember what he had come up here for, and wondered if it was to tidy up the mess he’d left from a previous experiment. About to go back downstairs to bed, he paused and headed over to his workbench first, picking up the garland that still sat there and placed it atop his head, as if it was the most normal thing he could’ve done. It remained on his head even as he undressed and redressed for bed, and slipped under the covers after adding a few more pieces of wood to the fire.

Tomorrow… tomorrow he would go over his notes and see if his latest scientific study had proven to be more fruitful than the last, but for now he would try to relax and sleep, even though Wilson felt he still had the energy to run at top speed if needed… or even strike at something.

_What an ungentlemanly thing to do_. Wilson scoffed to himself, before closing his eyes to sleep.


	4. Peace of Mind

Summers in England weren’t particularly harsh, and as always Wilson found a way to occupy himself. Using the scientific method hadn’t worked, even though the gentleman scientist had tried his best at each attempt, he soon found himself drifting from it, seemingly forgetting in favor of other things. The last attempt the scientist had tried to focus on was a sort of acceptance; rather than stressing or fretting over it, panicking and almost breaking down, Wilson tried to simply see if he could ride it out while still trying to keep track of what was going on. Surprisingly, it seemed to work, to a degree, but only in the sense that it was akin to simply keeping a daily journal with extra additions now and then. Whenever he found himself somewhere he was positive he hadn’t been five seconds earlier, or found the addition of something that hadn’t been there before… such as the discovery of a few beehives now occupying his back yard... Wilson took note.

The scientist also took on a few new experiments, ones that were a little different than he was used to, the kind that were more along the lines of alchemical experimentation in the kitchen. Thankfully there had been no need to try and cool himself off by purposefully placing another ice block on his head, Wilson found himself drawn to creating things that would help him stay cool and perhaps sooth his mind. At first he had fallen into the habit of picking flowers for a new garland whenever the one he wore wilted, until after one unfortunate nap outside when he woke to find his head at the center of far too many bees. Once the scientist had made sure to be free of any and all stingers, along with any other scrapes and bumps he might’ve acquired from his startled awakening from his nap, he started towards the bathroom for the antiseptic only to suddenly find himself up in the attic. It wasn’t the worst place to find himself, though much like many times prior, Wilson wished he could ask himself _why_. In this instance, he wanted to ask why he was shirtless with several pieces of paper stuck to his body, each one kept in place with the aid of what seemed to be a decent application of honey. If nothing else the scientist was grateful he wasn’t trying to grind up spiders and ash again.

That being said, there wasn’t much Wilson could complain about in regards to his creation of melonsicles and ice cream. So very cool and refreshing, not to mention sweet. Sometimes he would add a handful of berries or pomegranate seeds to the ice cream for a little bit of extra flavor and bite, whereas other times he would add berries or honey to the melonsicles for a change in taste or just a bit more sweetness.

On days when it was too muggy and stifling to be outside, Wilson found himself more inclined to spend his time inside, experimenting up in the attic. True it was cooler in the lower floors, most of all the basement pantry, but there were so many things to discover, ideas to test, theories to theorise. Whenever the scientist grew tired, or his work became particularly frustrating, he would recline in his armchair, shifting slightly until he felt comfortable in the well worn chair, sparing a momentary thought on seeing if perhaps there was someone in town who might be able to upholster his chair.

Every now and then he would spare a glance at his radio, sometimes picking it up a moment to turn it on, fiddle with it a bit, then turn it off before returning it to its spot. Often Wilson found himself waiting for something, and although he couldn’t think what, he still sat there so he might be ready when the time came, not that he knew when any more than he knew what. There was also a small stack of papers by the typewriter that Wilson couldn’t remember typing, but he did recall tidying them one day, several weeks prior. A few times he thought to give the pages a quick glance over to see where they belonged, and then put them there. But it was never more than a thought, as Wilson often forgot in the time it took him to walk over to the pages, pick them up, tap them against the table to align the pages, and thus would always put them back down again in the same spot.

\---

Autumn began to arrive with the turning of the leaves, accompanied by the pressing idea that it would be a good idea to grow a beard before winter. Throughout the summer Wilson had kept himself clean shaven, as he often did, but now he scratched at his cheek and newly grown stubble absentmindedly. The gentleman scientist had returned to his infrequent trips into town, ones that had grown fewer and further between once his gardens started to supply him with a more immediate source of food. There was something about gardening that Wilson couldn’t quite put his finger on. It wasn’t something he had ever enjoyed or even attempted at before, and he had always thought that perhaps he’d be somewhat of a black thumb about it; however, after discovering the addition of gardens to his lawn and giving it a fair go, it seemed he wasn’t half bad. Not to mention the food gathered about his own home was far more fresh, filling, and not to mention delicious. In addition, he hadn’t expected his rabbit traps to be as successful either, though perhaps that had something to do with his backyard facing wide open lands. Or perhaps it was luck?

On his last trip into town, Wilson purchased a jacket thick with fluff and meant to withstand harsh winter winds, along with a striped winter hat with a little poof on top that reminded Wilson of a rabbit's tail. Both were stored away once he arrived back home, in a chest that now sat at the end of his bed, along with the few other things he’d stored inside earlier that month.

At some point it seemed he’d purchased an axe, and while Wilson made note of it, he didn’t think much more of it other than pondering over dinner what he might have bought it for. The answer became clear around noon the next day when Wilson found himself outside, his house barely visible through the trees behind him. The scientist himself was slumped over slightly, resting upon his axe as he panted slightly, sweat dripping down his brow. Blinking a few times as he drew the back of his arm across his forehead, Wilson straightened as he caught his breath to look at… well now, it seemed he was attempting to fell a tree, and was roughly halfway through. Actually, upon looking around himself once more, he realized that the tree upon the ground not too far away had likely been brought down by himself already.

“Well now… I suppose I required more firewood.” Wilson remarked offhandedly to no one in particular, observing the tree before him once more and wondering exactly what he was to do. He was a gentleman scientist, not a lumberjack, and while he didn’t expect any answers from himself at this point, Wilson still couldn’t help but marvel just a little at the fact that he was only a trite winded after chopping down one and a half trees. Although… he likely shouldn’t leave a tree upright with such a chunk taken out of it.

After a few minutes of observation Wilson was certain he had deduced the actions required to continue bringing down the tree, and after acquiring what he believed to be a good grip on the axe, began to swing.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Again and again he swung the axe with an almost overwhelming feeling of familiarity, as if this was something he had done time and again. The solidity of the tree, the connection the axe made, simply _knowing_ he wasn’t supposed to just swing straight for the middle… much like other things at this point, Wilson simply followed through.

Thankfully he also seemed to know when to get out of the way, and which way to go, and as he leaned against another tree, panting once again, Wilson watched the tree fall. It wasn’t some great towering pine, but it was certainly no sapling either. Once on the ground, he went over and began breaking it into smaller pieces to carry back home.

It took several days to break up both trees and bring all the wood home, and despite knowing, _knowing_ without a question of a doubt that he could simply _buy_ wood for winter, Wilson continued to and fro to bring the wood home for winter, feeling as if his life depended on it. When the wood was stacked in a line by his house, out in the sunshine, he felt more at ease and was able to fall back into his normal routine, such as cleaning himself up and taking a moment to rest upstairs in his favorite chair. Wilson didn’t turn on the radio, instead choosing to hum softly to himself, a somewhat jazzy tune that seemed to stick in his mind now and then much as taffy might stick to someone's teeth.

After a few moments of that, the gentleman scientist stood, heading over to his workbench, there were still experiments to be done after all.

\--- 

Wilson had to go to town.

It didn’t have anything to do with sitting outside that morning around the firepit he’d built himself just the other day, or how the wind rustled through the trees, and it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that, for a brief moment, the trees seemed to be alive… looking at him… coming for him after chopping some of them down.

No, nothing to do with that at all. He needed a new pair of shoes, that was all, and a few more ingredients for the experiments currently in progress.

After all, trees weren’t alive, not like that anyway. Not in a way that would chase him down no matter the distance he ran, and so Wilson was fairly positive he could stop glancing over his shoulder now and then for something that just wasn’t going to be there.

It was quiet in town today, more so than usual it seemed, though perhaps it was because his sudden decision to come into town brought him here earlier than he usually would be, and on a weekday at that. Wilson didn’t think much of it other than that it would likely make for a shorter wait when he had to step into a store, and that perhaps he might take lunch in town again, something he hadn’t done since spending the day in town.

There was a soft rumble overhead as Wilson shifted the large paper bag he was carrying from one side of his hip to the other, trying to get a decent hold on it and the precarious items inside. For a moment the scientist stood there, looking up at the swelling dark grey clouds that now covered the sky like an over fluffed cover filled with down.

With a sigh he looked around, contemplating waving down a carriage so he might return home in a more timely manner, not to mention a dry one. Seeing none immediately, Wilson gave a soft huff of annoyance and began to hum the same jaunty tune as always, and started heading towards home while silently hoping one crossed his way.

Wilson had barely reached the end of the block when he stopped short, foot frozen in place halfway up from the ground as he realized that there was a soft tune in the air, the same crackling, jaunty jazz that he had been humming to himself. The scientist fell silent, listening intently as he frantically looked around himself for the source but found nothing.

...nothing?

The buildings were still there, all the shops, streets, stalls, everything he knew about the town but… where were the people?

“Going somewhere young sir?”

The sudden voice almost had Wilson yelping in surprise, and the scientist was certain the only reason he did not was because it felt as if his heart had lodged itself in his throat.

Not scientifically possible, but Wilson gulped hard and nodded to the man who sat in the driver's seat of the carriage, quickly opening the door with his free hand to climb inside while telling the man where he lived and to take him there at once.

The moment the door was shut Wilson heard the reigns snap, the fall of horse hooves upon stone, felt and heard the bump of the wheel over uneven pavement. Setting the paper bag carefully on the floor, Wilson glanced out the carriage door to look at the scene as it passed.

It was still silent outside the noise of the carriage, save for the music, still playing, still audible over the noise. And still… no people, no dogs or children, no birds…

Quickly he sat back in his seat, swallowing hard once again as he tried to settle himself, trying to reassure himself that it was simple nausea from motion he was feeling right now, and that the people, well, just because he wasn’t seeing them right at this second didn’t mean they weren’t there. If nothing else there was the man driving the carriage! It wasn’t as if everyone had just simply up and vanished!

Wilson tried to reassure himself of this over and over again as he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it slightly as if attempting to coax it into some other shape than the ‘w’ it usually took. _Just breath_ , he thought to himself, _ride it out like the rest… it will pass._

Soon enough the carriage jolted to a stop, almost jarring Wilson off of his seat. Quickly gathering up his bag, feeling a little calmer now, Wilson quickly got out and took a few bounding steps towards his house before stopping to quickly fish in his pockets for enough cash to pay the driver, turning to step back to the street and the carriage.

“I appreciate you bringing me back so hastily, I hope this suffices…” Wilson trailed off as he looked at the street where horse and carriage must have been, but there was nothing more than the street itself and the town beyond it.

Slowly, so slowly, he pocketed the money once again, and turned to his house once more. The music was still there, sounding as if it was filtering down from the attic. Had he somehow been hearing it the whole time, even though he’d been so far away in town?

He didn’t know, there really wasn’t a way to figure it out right now either.

Placing the bag in the kitchen, Wilson took up his notebook from where he’d left it upon the table when making breakfast that morning, then started up the stairs towards the attic, taking two at a time in his haste. It was almost as if the music was calling, telling him to hurry. No… not the music… there was someone else here, as he paused at the start of the steps to the attic, the sound of hurried footfalls continued. Something itched, tickled at the back of his mind, a thought trying to be remembered. It was the same each time Wilson sat in the chair everyday, feeling as if he was waiting for something. Someone? He wasn’t sure, he didn’t know, but as he raced up the last of the stairs it felt as if he might miss it if he didn’t hurry.

Glancing around the room, the scientist saw nothing out of the ordinary, everything was in its place as he’d left it, including things he’d been meaning to clean up once he’d gotten back. Those things he ignored, looking instead to his chair, and the radio beside it.

_"Thank you, I've been listening to that song for an eternity."_

The words almost seemed to whisper from the back of Wilson’s mind as he approached the chair, eyes flickering between it and the radio.

_“Say pal, looks like you’re having some trouble! I have secret knowledge I can share with you if you are ready for it.”_

No… that wasn’t what came next…

That came before…

_“Hope you don’t mind, I have long since grown tired of that tune, and it is surely safe to assume the same of you.”_

For a moment, Wilson stood in front of the chair. It was nothing more than that, a simple chair. True, it was also his favorite chair, but that hardly took away from the fact that it was nothing more than something comfortable to sit on, especially after a long day. For a moment, part of him wanted to turn away, to go back downstairs, to walk away.

No.

He frowned, pursing his lips slightly as if the gentleman scientist had somehow insulted himself, despite not being sure how. Wilson sat down, gripping the armrests of the chair, took a steady deep breath, and exhaled. After all it seemed like someone was coming, it would be rude of him to leave before this guest arrived.

\---

Wilson wasn’t sure how long he sat there waiting, only that the music never stopped or changed, and that it had started raining outside. He’d closed his eyes as he tried to hear over the radio, hoping the footsteps were still there. They seemed to be, but every now and then they’d stop, and just around the time Wilson began to wonder if he had imagined it to begin with, they started again. Now and then he also heard the growling of dogs, the snap of teeth, and he was fairly certain he heard a voice cry “To arms!” at least once.

Were they alright?

He couldn’t tell, and there was no point in opening his eyes to look around, he’d only see his attic again, and that wasn’t what he was interested in right now.

The rain still fell heavily outside, but despite how overcast the room had become due to the lack of sunlight outside, there was still a soft light in the room, as if he’d left the lights light. Wilson frowned slightly as the light seemed to flicker, likely some sunlight coming through the cloud and catching his eye. He scrunched them tighter, trying to turn his face away. It eased a little, and the scientist was almost able to relax, except for the hand that fell upon his shoulder, and if not for something holding him down Wilson was certain he would’ve jumped right out of his chair.

Eyes snapped open to find he wasn’t in his attic, no, not at all.

But he knew where he was, and again he recognised the man before him.

“You’re alive.” Wilson croaked, remembering, remembering that he’d forgotten.

“Well… considering how things went last time, it was debatable for a moment, however I wasn’t about to let such a thing set me back from what I had set out to accomplish.” Maxwell growled, straightening to tug at his armor. It was the same shadowy nightmare darkness he wore before, a hat of fireflies atop his head as well.

“I would elaborate more, but I shall not risk what little time we may have.” Maxwell continued, though Wilson could tell the other man wasn’t pleased at this. “There are three things I shall tell you, however.” Maxwell continued, taking a divining rod from his pocket and holding it much like one might hold a spear. “First of all, what happened to me shall likely happen to you too.”

Wilson wasn’t sure if this was reassuring or not, if nothing else it meant Maxwell didn’t _intend_ to kill him… okay, it wasn’t reassuring.

“Second, I have left a book for you, hopefully it shall be nearby when you wake up.”

Despite knowing it was no good, Wilson tried to tug against whatever held him to the chair, hoping that perhaps there might be an alternative to what was about to happen next.

“Third.” Maxwell stated firmly, and Wilson paused as Maxwell did, looking at the man to give his full attention. “And this is most important boy.” Maxwell’s voice was almost a growl as his eyes narrowed, even pointing the divining rod at Wilson for added emphasis. “Third, find Charlie.”

The gentleman scientist wanted to ask dozens of questions, one specifically but he had no time, Maxwell gave him none and simply inserted the divining rod into the base before Wilson could attempt to croak out a noise.

Wilson felt the chair beneath him shift, then begin to sink into the floor. He pulled against it, even as he did so he felt his muscles protesting, not too surprising after being inactive for so long. For a moment, he was free, standing there just as Maxwell was. Wilson noticed the look on the other mans face, pity perhaps, a silent apology.

Slowly the scientist sank to his knees, crying out as he felt as if he was being torn asunder. Wilson remembered being struck by lightning, attacked by a spider queen, so many things… this… this was nothing like that. This was… was this what it felt like to be swallowed whole?

Everything went dark.

\---

_Falling… or… perhaps he was floating, flying? Either way, there was an odd sense of peace to all of this, perhaps it was because he felt almost boundless now, as if his very being was expanding beyond its usual capacity. Or more, perhaps it was because he remembered, and now had time to think._

_Cradled in the darkness, Wilson remembered his radio speaking to him, offering him knowledge, building a door, Maxwell’s door, hesitating briefly only to have the voice on the radio snap at him, and with that he’d pulled the lever. Moments later, he’d woken somewhere else entirely, somewhere that had required the gentleman scientist to quite literally fight for his life. Sometimes he had succeeded, and sometimes he hadn’t, but whenever he failed… he’d gotten another chance._

_Maxwell._

_The man who had spoken to him, who had brought him to that world._

_Wilson remembered finding the first few strange pieces about the world, strange as far as that place went anyway. He’d made a divining rod, sought out the rest, and then found a door much like the one he had made to first come to this world. Would the door take him home? Or would it take him to Maxwell? After so much time, the passing of so many seasons, Wilson had strongly hoped he could take the fight to Maxwell._

“Oh, you found my portal did you? You’d think you would have learned your lesson by now. Hmm, lets try something a little more challenging, shall we?”

_The gentleman scientist had been ready, more than ready, he was ready willing and able to take on anything Maxwell could throw at him at that point, nothing was going to stop him from thanking Maxwell personally when they finally met face to face._

_However, as he went from one area to another, Wilson’s mind slowly began to change. The more he progressed, the more worn and ragged Maxwell looked, not to mentioned the growing desperation and almost panic rising in the other man’s voice._

“Is this how it ends?”

_When Wilson finally found Maxwell, he hadn’t been sure what to think at first. Of all the things he’d been expecting, finding Maxwell bound to a chair like a prisoner wasn’t one of them. At first Wilson had simply turned off the gramophone, an action for which he had been thanked. The other man had sounded tired, worn… did he sound the same moments earlier when Maxwell found him, their positions reversed?_

"Go on, stay a while. Keep us company. Or put the key in the box. It's your decision. Either way, you're just delaying the inevitable."

_Maxwell’s words had been ragged, almost halting, the words that fell from the man's mouth sounded weary and almost foreign, as if Maxwell had almost forgotten how to speak in the time he had spent trapped there._

_Wilson had listened, spoken to him a little more, and after a time, decided._

_There was no reason to stay here, no reason to fight Maxwell, not that it would be a fair one all things considered. All Wilson wanted at that point, was to go home, and to let Maxwell do the same, no reason to let either one of them suffer._

_With the divining rod in the base, the chair had sunk to the floor, Maxwell had pulled free, and for a moment… a brief moment… it seemed like it just might be over. But pain and horror crossed the other man's face, a cry tore from them both as Wilson watched him sink to the floor, dust wisping away from his body to leave only bone which crumbled mere moments after. Before Wilson could even comprehend even a shred of what had just transpired, the chair had risen beneath him, binding him to it. It wasn’t what he wanted, he didn’t want this at all! Wilson wanted to go home, back to England, back to his home and his experiments…_

_He’d wanted…_

"There wasn't much here when I showed up. Just dust. And the Void. And Them. I've learned so much since then. I've built so much."

_Oh._

_It was nice to understand, to remember. Moreso to know he hadn’t been losing his mind, at least not in the way the gentleman scientist had thought he had been. Though Wilson wondered if the place had only been in his mind, or if he had actually made another home, another England._

_At that thought, it felt as if what made him who he was… was starting to pull back into itself. While that didn’t seem to make much sense, Wilson wasn’t sure how else to describe it. In a sense it seemed almost like when he shook out a bedsheet before hanging it on the line, watching it flap gently in the breeze. Now it was as if he was being folded back in on himself, compressed, would he forget again? He didn’t want to go back to England, not that one anyway. Perhaps that would change what happened next, whatever that was to be._

_An amusing thought came to mind, and Wilson felt himself smile, looks like he would have to trust Maxwell._


End file.
